


Dusk

by nuuboo (orphan_account)



Category: Naruto
Genre: Light Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-04
Updated: 2016-01-04
Packaged: 2018-05-11 15:42:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5632021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/nuuboo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based on the anonymous prompt, “I’m not fragile, I’m not going to break if you talk to me about it. I’ll listen and I’ll care. That’s it. I promise.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dusk

Kakashi stares pointedly out the window. It’s dusk, and the sun casts one final sweeping light over the village, angry purple clouds looming just behind the mountains. That’s how he feels: like the sun, sinking lower and lower, casting one last line out in a pathetic, feeble attempt to be caught. But it is caught. He knows it is. Maybe that’s worse than it being left as it is. Maybe it’s better to sink, to give in to the approaching nightfall, than it is to be pulled back up. 

It’s less painful that way, he thinks. The sun looks like it’s given up as it lowers inch by inch behind the silhouette of the Hokage mountain. He’d like to give up, too. Why couldn’t he? So does the sun, day after day, sinking and sinking to leave the world in darkness for half the time they exist on it—and people think the sight is beautiful. 

“I’m not fragile, I’m not going to break if you talk to me about it. I’ll listen and I’ll care. That’s it. _I promise._ ”   


Iruka is stubborn, unrelenting. His resolve beats against Kakashi in an invisible wave, crashing against the rocky terrain Kakashi offered. And, like the ocean, it comes back again. And again. Always, Iruka’s earnest affection returns, unbidden. Kakashi wonders what it is Iruka sees in him, or what it is Iruka thinks is worth putting his loyalty in. He doesn’t ask. He knows better than that. Or maybe it’s just that he doesn’t want to hear the answer. 

“Let me in. Let me do this for you. To do that wouldn’t be a weakness, Kakashi. I’m not here to tear down what you’ve built around yourself because—because I have nothing better to do. I’m here because I _want_ to be. Do you understand that? I want to be here because I like you, and I want to help you. I can’t just—sit around while you’re suffering like this. I can’t _do_ _nothing_. I can’t let you deal with this alone when you don’t have to.”  


Kakashi turns his head few enough degrees to peek at Iruka out of the corner of his eye. Iruka looks serious, dead set on his stance. Not even a herd of elephants could budge Iruka now. There’s something to admire about that, but Kakashi can’t see much of it when it’s all directed at him, so close, so personal. 

He understands the concept laid out before him: a lover won’t stand by while their other half is hurting. That’s reasonable. That’s normal. That’s love, in its purest form. But he doesn’t do normal, and he’s certainly not one deserving of any sort of affection. Iruka doesn’t understand that. Maybe he should. Maybe he’ll tell him so. 

He doesn’t. He knows better. Kakashi sighs inaudibly, shoulders sagging as the breath leaves him hollow and empty and listless. 

He opens his mouth to say something and closes it, brows furrowed. It doesn’t slip past Iruka, though, and Iruka takes a step forward. There’s a pleading note to his voice when he says, “Kakashi— _talk to me._ ”

He could. He could talk to him. Iruka won’t break, and maybe— _maybe_ something good will come of it. He would hope, if he was ever a hoping sort of guy. He isn’t. Iruka is still staring, though, unwavering. The skin on Kakashi’s neck feels like it’s burning from the inside.

“…he was the first friend I had,” Kakashi says suddenly, so quiet that were it not for Iruka’s sharp hearing, he’d have missed it entirely. He doesn’t say anything else. 

Iruka stares, picking apart his expression, his tone, the look in his eyes, the way he slouches, the weight put on the edge of the Hokage desk where Kakashi couldn’t bring himself to stand upright. The last bit of sunlight fades, trailing along the edge of the floor until it’s gone completely. They’re left in muted darkness, purple skies signaling the pitch night to come. He could turn on the light, but he feels he doesn’t need to. He can see fine. So can Kakashi. Darkness never covered much.   


He takes Kakashi’s hand, and lets out a relieved breath when he feels Kakashi’s fingers curl around his own. It’s a tight grip that feels desperate, as though Kakashi is asking something of him that he can’t put into words. He doesn’t have to. Iruka will stay, anyway. 


End file.
